


Surviving =/= Living

by HellishMinds



Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Inhuman Condition (Web Series)
Genre: Depression, Enough feels to sink the Titanic, F/F, Gen, Maybe some gay?, Mental Health Awareness Millenium, Mental Illness, PTSD, Pretty much everyone is mentally ill because trauma, Silas was not a good place to be, Trauma is a thing and it's not nearly addressed enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 16:15:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10193738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HellishMinds/pseuds/HellishMinds
Summary: Silas left everybody with scars.Doctor Kessler is a psychiatrist, specialising in the counselling of 'Inhumans', people who exist outside the norm.She counsels those affected most by it; a broody lesbian ex-vampire, the former host of an Sumerian Goddess (who just wants to be normal) and the last vampire on Earth who could really use a drink or two.This is a crossover between 2 Kinda TV webseries, knowledge of Carmilla is advised while knowledge of Inhuman Condition is recommended but not necessary.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on my own experience of counselling, my Psychology A-Level revision and what is shown in Inhuman Condition. I'm mostly using my knowledge of humanistic therapies and CBT, so advice would be gratefully received :)  
> Don't expect lots of happiness, this is mostly because many of the fics I've read don't really take all the trauma I'd imagine occurring after Season 3 into account (and since everyone is happy in the movie trailer, there's definitely been some therapy going on).  
> Also using this as a way to re-exercise my writing skills for future fanfictions (so watch this space~)

Living =/= Surviving

(Carmilla)  
I may have been human now, but I wasn’t for over 300 years of my life. As such, Laura pushed me to go through therapy, particularly after the events of the past few months. Unfortunately, that meant travelling to America, my least favourite country, to see some specialist because apparently no one else was qualified enough to talk to me for an hour a week.   
Seriously; all that would happen would be that the therapist would ask invasive questions about my life, then drone on about ‘how does that make you feel’ and ‘how do you think you could have done better’. Then I would have to nod politely and take advice from someone centuries younger. It’s almost enough for me to wish Mother had succeeding in bringing down Hell on Earth.   
Laura says it’s not like that- that all those films (movies she calls them, how American) are wrong but to be honest, how much does she know? She’s literally 19 years old, not exactly heaving with wisdom.  
Doctor Kessler is meant to be a pioneer in the field of Inhuman Therapy.   
She’s counselled vampires, although there aren’t any left, thanks to my Mother’s Ascension, werewolves, though they prefer to be called Lycans, and other inhumans. God, I hate that word.   
‘Inhuman’   
That’s what we- they- are to the ‘normal’ humans, beasts who wear a human form and parade around in this guise to try and fool those ‘good, normal’ people. Kessler was also meant to have been taken in by some organisation but Mother foiled that with opening Hell’s Gates. Whoop-de-do for her, now I’ve got to deal with her talking to me; not what I really want to spend an hour doing each week.  
She’s old. Or she looks it, at least. It’s like someone drew a picture of her then decided it wasn’t human enough and went all Expressionist on it. Maybe its stress, maybe it’s just premature aging; either way I don’t really care. Laura wouldn’t be happy with what I’m thinking but she always knew more about social interaction than I did- centuries of regarding humans as nothing more than food or amusements does that; even when you’ve been born and bred to take to social functions like a duck to water.  
Kessler has good tastes anyway.   
The room she counsels in is very minimalistic, both in furniture and colour. Some might call it sparse, but it’s soothing. White is the predominant colour, or lack thereof, which gives everything a cold feel, though the room itself is warm. It’s obvious that she spends a lot of time here, from the book-lined shelves, the filled file cabinets to the worn leather of the sofa and chairs. From her sentry in the corner of the room, she motions for me to sit.   
I do.  
“Hello, Miss Karnstein, please, make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right with you.” Her movements are practiced as she seats herself, pen and paper in her hands, “Do you mind if I take some notes?” At the answering shake of the head, she smiles, “Thank you. Now, what would you like to talk about first- I know you’re here about what you’ve experienced over your-” She looks at her notes, “336 years of life. Where should we start?”  
I clear my throat, ready to spit vitriol at this idiotic therapist but something stops me and something much tamer comes out of my mouth instead. Laura would be proud.   
“How about when I saved this hunk of rock from literal Hell on Earth?”  
She raises a brow at that, writing something I can’t read down on her sheaf of paper.   
“Why not? Now, what happened? I must confess, I find myself very intrigued.”   
“The Dean, Mother as she had me call her- she was the one to turn me- was a god. Well, is a god, Inanna, and she wanted to get her love back. However, the Silas Board of Governors wasn’t okay with that and bound her to a mortal body and caged her with these four talismans. Unfortunately for them, she decided to get him the hard way by opening the Gates of Hell. We stopped her; she managed to ascend and actually become sane-ish again, and then made me human. Also, I made a deal with the god of death to get Laura back. The not-so-happy end, thank you very much.”  
“Ah, I’ve read about Inanna and Hastur. I imagine that the god you made a deal with was Erishkigal?”  
“In the form of my dead sister, yes, I did. Though Mattie always said she was merely a messenger.”  
The other brow joins the other in its ascent up her forehead. The mental picture is an amusing one and I swallow a laugh.  
Kessler frowns. More wrinkles form, “Matska Belmonde? She was your sister.”   
(It’s a statement. Was not is. Regret flows freely.)  
I wince. The pain of her passing is still fresh, though it happened months ago. I missed her so much and at the same time, was angry at her for giving Lawrence a reason to kill her.   
“Yes. Not my sister by blood but by virtue of Mother turning both of us.”  
“You miss her.”  
“Of course. You can’t undo centuries of companionship with a couple months of nothingness, right, Doctor Kessler?” I regret the biting sarcasm when the woman opposite immediately scrawls something else down. She’s on her second piece of paper already.   
I look up at the clock. Only 8 minutes have passed. We still have 22 left to go. Fabulous.   
“Grief is a natural process- more so when you’ve spent so much time together. I couldn’t imagine what you’ve been through.”  
I want to believe that she’s lying. She isn’t. And I hate her for it. 

(Perry)  
When LaFontaine and I finally managed to escape Silas (at least a year too late, in my opinion), they insisted on therapy for me. Through each therapist, they had hope that we could find someone who could help, but after each one, I could see that hope dwindle. Thankfully, we found Doctor Kessler before that fire and determination could completely burn out.   
She’s middle-aged, though she looks slightly older, probably because of- no, it doesn’t bear thinking about. The room that I will get to know intimately over the next couple months (though I wonder if it’ll be longer, but I hope not, I don’t want to waste her time) is sparse and seems intimidating in its minimalism. I can’t say it’s to my tastes- but that might be due to something I can’t think about that.  
The occasional scribble of her pen as we talk about inanities; the weather, my favourite things, my relationship with LaFontaine, is disconcerting. I wonder what she’s writing. I hope that it’s good. I want to make sure it’s good. At my worried expression, she jots another thing down then looks up with a slight smile.

“It’s okay, Lola. Only good things.”

“Only good things… Thank you Doctor.” I say with an answering smile.  
She writes more, the worry rises in my throat and I feel myself wanting to gag on it. I swallow the urge down- control, Lola, control.   
The thought is almost alien, but is familiar from before.   
“Susa- I mean, LaFontaine- didn’t originally want to go to Silas. Did they tell you that, Dr Kessler?” At the shake of her head and a prompting smile, I go on, “I may have forced them to… Does that make me a bad person Dr Kessler?”  
“Lola, of course not, it’s only human to want company-”

“No… I literally forced them to… And what she made me do… What the others thought of me… I enjoyed it… I enjoyed being perceived as powerful, as something to be feared and respected. Before- before, they just saw me as stupid old Perry, you know? As someone too engrained in her own rigid lifestyle that she couldn’t see the obvious, the ‘mom’ friend, the silly old Hufflepuff who couldn’t hurt a fly but would bake everyone brownies after the big, world-saving fight.   
“The only reason I was even saved was because of some agreement Laura made with Mattie- risking her life for me when I couldn’t even hold back the Dean. And- and in the alternate universe, I overheard Laura and LaFontaine talking and they said I served the Dean. Willingly. And I was blinded to all that was happening, probably through wilful ignorance and what does that say about me? Am I just a follower, a sheep? Before all this happened, I just wanted to make my own way. And now look. I’m sitting here, ranting about all that has happened and I’m not even crying. Am I broken? Did she make me like this or was this me before I went to… to… Silas?”  
I catch my breath. It’s hard to breathe and I feel dizzy before everything fades and I’m back there, she’s taunting me and it’s like I’m several metres underwater, the pressure on my chest making my heart slower and slower.   
The sudden intake of air flings me back into reality (or is it) and sweat crawls down my back and my heart is pounding and I’m hot underneath my skin and I can’t feel anything, I can’t feel anything and Kessler places her hand on my knee and everything slows to a crawl.  
“Lola…” The word is thick, drawn out like Kessler is speaking through a mouthful of honey and I barely recognise it as my name, “Breathe…”   
I breathe.   
“Thank you.”  
I get up and almost run out the door.

 

(Danny)

If university is meant to change your life, well, I have to admit that this is one old adage that is true. My life has been thrown upside down, inverted, and everything I stood for flipped. The anger is still there, but it’s dulled, like an old knife.  
(An old knife is one best thrown out)  
Everything’s dull now, like an old movie or an old book. The emotions I felt before my death were raw, and heady, and everything I crave now.   
Not much is able to excite me. Laura betrayed me (that’s still something that hasn’t lost its edge) and gave up the university (the university I died for) for her precious Carmilla. Sex is just that, something that is merely there for reproduction and the fleeting warmth for a second is barely worth the effort to get to- not when all I want is to rip into my partner’s throat and watch them die as I drink their blood (I’m a foul creature and I wished Carmilla had staked me when she had the chance. At least then I’d be at peace).   
After Silas, after Theo, LaFontaine contacted me, offering the chance at some sort of redemption . Therapy may not have been my first choice of activities to do, but hey, what would be the worst that could happen?  
(You get dropped like every time before? No one wants you but me, Danielle)

“Miss Lawrence. Thank you for meeting me.”  
She’s old and I can smell it on her, the hopelessness weighting her bones and the despair she carries like a shroud. For a brief, fleeting moment, I’m glad that I will never grow old in this same way. Then I remember that I’ll be alone, for the rest of my immortal existence, courtesy of that bitch.   
“Nice to meet you, Doctor. Where do you want me? Lying on the couch or sitting in the chair?” I imbue the words with false arrogance, trying to channel what I remember of my mortality, the cheer, the sheer vitality that seems to fade like colours at sunset.   
“Your choice, Miss Lawrence. Or do you prefer Danny?”  
“Whatever works for you, Doc” I say as I settle into the chair nearest the door, arranging my gangly limbs with artful languidness to give off the impression of nonchalance. Inside, I’m numb and just want this over with, so I can get out and wander the streets or some crap like that. Maybe I’ll have a couple beers at some shitty college bar then take my pick of people to chow down on later. Death has made me less picky.  
“Danny… How are you today?”   
Her smile reminds me of Dean!Perry- the slight tilt of the head and curve of the lips giving off the same vibes of motherly kindness, of someone you can trust and tell everything to. I’m glad I don’t need to breathe when it feels like all the air was sucked out of my lungs.  
(Danielle, how are you feeling poppet?)  
“Danny?”  
“Sorry about that, just got lost in thought for a second!” I paste a grin on my face, imagining myself painting it on with swabs of a brush, “I’m fine, thank you, and yourself?”  
Kessler looks up from her papers, letting her pen still on the white surface.  
(I’m… Hungry…)  
“Good, good. I’m well, though I’ve been having some trouble with my daughter and ex-wife. You know how it is, they want me to leave here and teach at Yale when really, I can’t leave my patients, can I?”   
“I can’t empathise with the specifics but yeah, I get the feeling.” After all, duty is one of the main reasons I died. That and love. The disgust that runs down my spine is a muted thing. Like all of my emotions nowadays.   
“Of course, you are only young. I’ve still got several years on you, haven’t I?” She laughs self-consciously and I’m tempted to laugh with her but Kirsch’s face is branded on my retinas, his expression as I use him over and over again then leave him alone in the library. Guilt is the sharpest thing in my life now. Guilt and pain, though they blur into one.   
“Yes. You do.” The words are blank, numb like ice or some other cold thing. Death, for people like her, is something inevitable and it shows.   
“Though I’m sure you’ll be able to surpass me yet, Danny.”   
She knows. She knows that I’m a monster.   
(He tastes delicious)  
My answer is flat, robotic, and entirely in line with what I am now.  
“Yes, Doctor Kessler.”

**Author's Note:**

> Cheers for reading, a quick review or Kudos would be much appreciated ;)  
> Also, I'm not sure if this could work better as an oneshot or an actual fic so do leave your preference~  
> (If this is going to be an actual fic, there'll be a lot more organisation, think of this as a sneak peak if it becomes a multi-chapter fic)


End file.
